


bright lights, our platform fire

by flonkertons



Series: I was stepping through a fog [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3944227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Bellamy and Clarke attended Octavia’s New Year’s Eve party and one time they didn’t. (Timestamp to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3753451">This Haze Is Only Temporary</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	bright lights, our platform fire

**Author's Note:**

> Last night I was trying to write a bunch of things but nothing was working so I decided to just finish this one up. It IS a timestamp to This Haze but I don't think you need to read it to understand what happens in here. But you SHOULD just for fun, js ANYWAYS shameless plug over. THANKS 4 READING!!!

**I. New Year's Eve 2011**

Octavia's decided that she "needs" to throw a New Year's Eve party because "Sharon Fitzpatrick is trying to usurp my natural role as the neighborhood's resident party planner" (she lives in an apartment complex) and "I'm not letting that happen on my watch." Bellamy has met Sharon Fitzpatrick and she seems pretty harmless to him but he "doesn't know what the hell he's talking about" so he keeps his mouth shut after that. After years of growing up with Octavia, he knows what battles to pick.

Her boyfriend of a few months, Atom (yeah. _Atom._ ), is not as bright. He gets a ten minute rant about how her party planning skills are so much better in every way possible and by the end of the night, Sharon Fitzpatrick will "be begging for forgiveness."

Atom stupidly voices the thought that Bellamy's smart enough to pretend he's not thinking: "It's just one party, Octavia, is it really that big of a deal?" Octavia storms off after that. Bellamy doesn't care much for Atom, doesn't think he's a good fit with Octavia, but he had been sufficiently cowed when Bellamy intimidated him with veiled threats and weight lifting when they had run into each other at the gym a while ago so he's got that going for him.

"Tough luck," Bellamy offers, patting him on the back unsympathetically before heading off in Octavia's direction. He's honestly such a good brother; who else would sit through three hours of plotting against Sharon Fitzpatrick but him?

 

There's a whole fucking crowd of people he's never met at this party because declaring war on Sharon Fitzpatrick's party requires inviting everyone in the complex. He has to navigate through five different conversations to get to a beer.

"Hey, what the hell? You didn't get one for me?" Someone behind him claps a hand on his shoulder and he turns around to find Miller scowling at him.

"Maybe if you had shown up earlier I would've."

"You can't park anywhere. I'm down three blocks away," Miller grouses, taking a look around the apartment. It really is filled to capacity probably.

"The perks of being related to the party host," Bellamy says, tipping his bottle at him. It only deepens his scowl, but it was funny.

"I'm gonna try to get one. Provided I don't get lost in a stampede." He scans the people around him, clearly creating a quick route.

"Good luck," he says, because he'll need it. After Miller leaves, he gets jostled around a few times, causing him to nearly spill beer on himself. He glares at the offenders, who are already too drunk for their own good, and tries to make an escape towards the door. Hopefully the hallway is less crowded. Three conversations to navigate this time.

When he makes it out, there are just a few people there, who have followed his line of thought and desire for some peace and quiet and no jostling. He nods at a few of them, leaning against the wall and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. Someone pokes his arm lightly, breaks him out of his reverie about nothing.

"Princess," he says, a bit surprised. The last time he ran into her was a few months ago in Target. It had been awkward because they hadn't actually spoken in around ten years and he didn't know what else to say to her besides "oh, long time no see." Plus, her boyfriend with some name he couldn't remember lurked behind her, never introducing himself until Clarke remembered to. ("This is what's his name, my boyfriend," she had said. "What's his name, this is Bellamy. We knew each other in high school." He had said his pleasantries, refraining from pointing out they had actually been friends for a bit.)

"Hey," she says, with an easy, but inquisitive smile. Her hair's shorter than it was a few months ago and she looks tired.  "Isn't the party inside?"

"If you take a peek inside, you'll see it's more of a mosh pit than a party," he says, shaking his head slightly. He takes another drink of his beer. Clarke does what he suggests, looking into Octavia's apartment with the open door for a few seconds before laughing.

"How'd all these people get invites? Octavia told me it was just friends and family," she gestures at him.

"Sharon Fitzpatrick," he explains, though it hadn't been her question. A look of understanding settles over her face.

"Right, the devil who is out to ruin her life. I wasn't sure if it was actually going to happen."

"That's the one."

"I almost told her it was just a party when she filled me in."

"So did I," he says, grinning.

"But we didn't."

"Nah. Atom did though." She cringes like she just knows how that turned out.

He draws out the word, "Exactly," and shrugs a shoulder to tell her to get out of the way of a couple who's trying to get past her to go inside. She hurries out of their way, ending up leaning against the wall next to him.

"They are quite a pair," Clarke says hesitantly.

"You can say they don't match well, Clarke. I think Octavia's said it herself." She has.

Defensively, "Sometimes that works, though!"

"Sure," Bellamy says slowly. "But sometimes it doesn't. No big deal, really."

She scoffs. He raises an eyebrow.

"So."

"So," she says back, slightly challenging.

"Your boyfriend already inside or something?"

It's barely noticeable but he picks up on the slight furrowing of her eyebrows, the little crease in the space between. "He's not here," she says stiffly. Then, she adds, in a light tone, "He's not my boyfriend anymore, anyways."

He raises an eyebrow again. He doesn't really care either way, but the guy had looked really into her back at Target. Whatever. "End poorly?"

Leveling him with a glare, she says, "It's really none of your business, Bellamy." He holds up his hands, one of them still clutching the beer bottle, in mock surrender.

At least he's able to muster up some effort to sound contrite. To be fair, he is a little sorry about it, but he didn't know that guy very well (or at all, considering he doesn't even recall the guy's fucking name) and Clarke doesn't look like she's very upset, just annoyed that he brought it up. "Sorry." She shrugs in response. He's about to let it go, but, "What was his name again?"

Unexpectedly, she laughs, which does wonders in relieving the tense set of her shoulders. "Finn," she answers.

Finn. Huh. He's usually good at names, especially at matching faces to names, but even the brief lift of potential names he had come up with just now didn't have anything sounding remotely close to Finn. "Shitty name," he finally declares. She snorts, hiding a smile as she turns away from him to look down the hall.

"Shitty guy," she says. Her tone tells him that she doesn't want to go into it, so he won't ask. Hindsight is telling him that he was right in not remembering his name, though. "I think he's in South Dakota or something. Who the fuck knows."

They stand in silence for a bit, although it's not so much silence as it is relative peace amongst the blaring music and whispers of conversation from the other people in the hallway.

"Shitty state," he says to break up the lack of conversation.

She doesn't hide her smile this time, and maybe there's a twinge in his chest. "Fitting," she says in a voice that makes him feel like they're sharing a secret. Clarke kicks off the wall, brushes off her shirt and points towards the door. "I'm gonna head in, try to find Octavia. It was nice talking to you again." He tips the bottle at her in response, even though _Nice talking to you too_ is on his tongue. She heads inside before he's able to get the words out.

A tipsy Miller finds him a few minutes later, yelling in his ear about how Octavia really knows how to throw a party. He shakes his head at his friend and guides him back inside.

 

***

 

**II. New Year's Eve 2012**

Even though Sharon Fitzpatrick has moved out of the apartment complex (unrelated reasons to the party, everyone tells him because it is somehow that important of a topic), Octavia has a brand to maintain and that means throwing another party. Once again, Bellamy finds himself getting roped into helping her with it, forced to give up his place for the night, even though her new boyfriend, Lincoln, seems much more amenable to the idea. (Bellamy is okay with Lincoln, though he doesn't really like him – but then again, does he really like any of Octavia's boyfriends? – because the gym intimidation thing hadn't worked out that well but Lincoln probably could bench press him so he's made peace with him.)

His job is to make sure the photobooth they've rented makes it to his place on time (meaning four hours prior to the start of the party.) Obviously, this doesn't work out. Something with miscommunication ("You were supposed to call them!" "I thought that was your job!" "I specifically delegated the task to you!") ruins their plans but who can say whose fault it really is (it's Bellamy's, it's so Bellamy's). Octavia is furious/disappointed with him, which is about the worst combination he can hope for in his sister because it makes him feel even guiltier and even more furious that he's made her furious/disappointed. He tells her that he'll figure it out, that he'll fix it, but he's just buying time.

He has no idea what to do, but he gets into his car, drives to the nearest Target and hopes that he can buy out the store in disposable cameras. Octavia might buy the "it's vintage" excuse. No, she'll definitely buy it. They should've done that from the start, he grumbles as he makes his way through the store. Where the hell do they keep them? Do they even sell them anymore?

"Bellamy?"

He whirls around, finding Clarke standing behind him with a smile. "Clarke. Hey. What are you doing here?"

They haven't seen each other much, never seem to run in the same places, and since he's always busy as the newest teacher at the high school and Clarke's always busy... doing something he can't remember, but it's something to do with art, he thinks, they never really hang out. They don't really have a reason to, actually; he doesn't think they're official "friends" or anything, just kinda friends who kinda run into each other every now and then. The last time they talked was when he and Miller were leaving a restaurant while she and her mom were walking in, but that was just a quick thing, a "hey, how are you?" "Good, you?" "I'm okay," exchange and that was that.

She holds up something in her hand, "My curling iron broke earlier and I needed a new one for tonight. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be setting up the party like Octavia is probably making you do?"

"I am on a mission," he says, puffing out his chest slightly. She raises an eyebrow; his chest deflates to normal. "I fucked up with the photobooth thing so now I'm trying to find as many disposable cameras as I can so we can record all memories from tonight for the future."

She nods in understanding as she catches up with him, dropping her curling iron into his shopping cart.

"Hey!"

"Like you need the space. And I'll help you find them, I actually know where they are," she says, guiding the cart around the corner.

"Thanks, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Take it or leave it, Clarke."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't object further.

"So you just had to get a curling iron today of all days?" he asks when she directs him to the stand where disposable cameras of all kind are sitting.

"I had some time to kill and thought why not," she shrugs, handing him one. Would twenty be enough? How many people are invited to his house again?

"Do you think twenty is enough?"

"Probably," Clarke answers. "If we run out, then it's not our fault people are camera happy." They stack 20 disposable cameras in the cart, along with Clarke's curling iron, a magazine she drops in as they make their way to check out, and some gum for Bellamy.

"Next time, don't forget to call for the photobooth," she scolds, but her amused tone tells him she doesn't care either way.

"This is way cheaper than a photobooth," he points out and there's a moment where they both try to maneuver to get out of each other's way so he can get up to the front to pay, but they keep moving in the same direction so finally he puts his hand on her shoulder to stop her, physically moving her in the other direction.

"You're right. And you can call it vintage." He grins immediately, remembers that he had thought the same thing.

"Octavia's a sucker for that stuff."

"Why'd you think I said it?" He laughs at her until they leave the store; Clarke points to the left, Bellamy veers towards the right.

"I'm that way," he says.

"And I'm that way," she adds, grabbing her curling iron and magazine out of the cart. He thinks briefly about asking her what she's going to do until the party but it doesn't stay. What is he going to say? Wanna come help set up for this party? A great time to be had by all.

He settles for "See you soon?"

"I'll try not to be too late." She smiles at him and he scoffs. He's known Clarke forever and she's always late to parties. Without fail.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he retorts while she flips him off. He rolls his eyes, then, clears his throat. "Hey, uh, thanks for helping out. Appreciate it."

"Duh," she says teasingly. "Anytime, seriously." With a wave, she walks off towards her car and he lets out a disbelieving chuckle before he gets into his.

 

The cameras are a hit. Octavia loves them, which is all that matters, and she's not mad at him anymore, which is even better, and he actually knows more of the invited guests than last year. It's less crowded too, but that's because of the larger space. He's holding a camera, not because he has any desire to be a photographer for the night, but some lanky guy had come up to him earlier, pressed the camera in his hand and yelled, "Hold onto this for a minute, I've got to pee," and he hasn't returned since so now Bellamy's responsible for a camera that he doesn't even want.

"You're a terrible host," someone says and Bellamy closes his eyes, counts to ten, and then turns around to sadly find John Murphy standing there. Doesn't he suffer enough of him at school? Christmas break is a guarantee he doesn't have to see anyone from school. Bellamy doesn't really have a problem with him because somehow he's a good teacher ( _somehow_ ), but he has a terrible attitude that he's not very fond of.

"I'm not the host," he says, smacking Murphy's hand away from the peeling wallpaper. "My sister is."

"She's a terrible host, then."

"How'd you get invited?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He doesn't, knows that he probably knows at least one of the guests here. He does make a mental note to tell Octavia to let him double check the guest list in the future.

"Please leave my house soon."

"I might, actually, this party's a bust."

"I don't even want to know what kind of parties you think are fun."

"Two words –"

"Hey, Octavia said – oh, sorry, am I interrupting?" He's never been happier to hear Clarke's voice, cutting off whatever horrific thing Murphy was going to tell him.

"Nope," he quickly reassures her. "What'd Octavia say?"

"Just that the fireworks should be set up now," she shifts back from Murphy, and he turns his head to catch him leering at her, and for a second, Bellamy feels a flash of anger, wants to punch him from ever looking at someone like that again, but he stamps that down, steps in between the two of them and gestures for Clarke to walk ahead of him. She follows his gesture and he guides her through the crowd with a hand on the small of her back, far away from Murphy, towards the garage where he's stashed the fireworks.

"Was that a friend?" She asks, as she turns on the lights.

"What? God, no. Unfortunately, a colleague." He has to remember where the fireworks are, since he had gotten them weeks ago and put them away somewhere without thinking about it.

"How the hell did he become a teacher?"

"We all ask that," he says, giving her a half smile. He notices that her hair is curlier than it was before. It looks good on her. He doesn't know when he developed opinions about her hair.

The fireworks are in a box on the top shelf in the corner and he has trouble getting it down with the camera in his hand. He holds it out to Clarke, asking, "Can you hold onto this?" She takes it from him and he's lifting the box from the shelf when he hears a _click_. Whirling around, he sees Clarke grinning as she lowers the camera from her face.

"Yeah, that'll make a great picture. 'Bellamy lifting box of fireworks, New Years' Eve 2012.'"

"Gotta document every memory, like you said."

He shakes his head as he slowly takes out the packages of fireworks stowed away in the box. "Put that camera down and help me, Griffin."

"Aye aye, Captain."

 

Three weeks later when he finally remembers to develop the pictures from the cameras, he wishes he had taken a picture of Clarke. Only because she had taken one of him first, of course.

 

***

 

**III. New Year's Eve 2013**

He doesn't expect to see her tonight and even for her propensity for showing up late to parties, it's past 'fashionably late' and edging into 'better to not show up at all'. After the year she's had, it's a surprise seeing her healthy and in charge at the school board meetings every month. She's usually in and out of the meetings, not leaving him any room to check on how she's doing (he doesn't know how to even approach that question), but he had had a feeling that she wouldn't want to come to some party to ring in the new year.

It's why he stops in surprise when he sees her sitting on his porch steps, nursing a beer and staring off into space. She only has a light jacket on and his inherently protective nature for anyone he cares about kicks in. It's not snowing but it's not _warm_ either. Certainly not light jacket temperature.

"Are you cold?" He asks, a bit abruptly, interrupting her lonely contemplation. He hopes that she won't mind that he's talking to her. Sometimes when he wants to think, he really wants to be alone. He doesn't know if Clarke's like that too.

"Nah," she says. "I've got thick skin."

He sits down beside her, setting his beer down next to him. The cold air bites at his skin.

"Are you sure? I can go get a blanket or something."

"I'm fine, Bellamy. Drink your beer."

He rolls his eyes but does so. They sit in silence as the music blares on from inside his house; he tries to remember what time it is.

"So how's my favorite school board nemesis?" He says, at the same time as she says, "I can't wait for this year to be over."

He looks sheepishly at her, motions for her to continue. She does, commenting in an aloof tone, "Been a really terrible year." He makes a noise of agreement, not wanting to say anything. It hadn't been a particularly memorable year for him, except for when he got a team past prelims at state, but Clarke lost her dad early on in the year and speaking from experience, he knows what it's like to lose a parent. He and Octavia had lost their mom a while ago, but the memory of it never really goes away. He had gone to Jake Griffin's wake, with Octavia, so they could pay their respects to Clarke, but he hadn't known her dad that well, or really much at all, aside from the few conversations they had had during the after season banquets. He was nice, though. Funny, in an unconventional way.

He thinks she has more to say about it, but she doesn't add anything else. She's quiet for a bit, hums a song he doesn't recognize, and taps her fingers against her beer bottle.

"2014 can't be as bad, can it?"

"Knock on wood," he says wryly. She actually does it, knocks on the wood paneling of the porch steps three times.

They continue to listen to the distant thrum of the music behind them. A few minutes pass and the volume is turned down so that they can only hear the vague sounds of someone's – probably Octavia's – voice. If she's giving a speech, that means it's almost time for the ball drop. She likes to do the countdown and everything, had always loved it since she was a little girl. He thinks about heading inside to count down with her, but also doesn't want to leave Clarke alone for some reason.

"Can I ask you something?" He says suddenly, turning to Clarke. Bellamy's not sure what's prompting this.

"Go ahead."

"Why'd you run for the board?"

He doesn't know what she thought he wanted to ask her, but it's obvious she didn't think it was what he does ask her. Her eyebrow lifts just slightly, barely noticeable amidst her neutral expression. She hums again, in thought. Then she answers, "It was the farthest thing from my mind at first. But then they asked me if I would like to fill in for Dad and, well, it did the trick. It's… Dad liked it a lot. So I like it."

Bellamy takes in her answer, even if he doesn't understand it fully. "That's good to have something like that." Clarke shrugs.

"Why'd you become a teacher?"

"I like history and shaping young minds."

She almost smiles at him so he counts it as a win. "How many times has that worked for you?"

"About three," he admits. Her almost smile nearly becomes a real smile.

Cheering erupts behind the door, which means it's midnight. He raises his beer at Clarke, tips it in her direction. "Happy New Year," he says.

"Here's to a good one," she adds, clinking her bottle against his. They both take a drink. It's now quiet around them and the cold air is still causing problems for him, but it's nice, just sitting here doing nothing for once. If this is a sign for 2014, then he'll take it.

When he gets up a bit later, after they've sat in companionable silence for nearly half an hour, he grabs her empty bottle and his. "Are you _sure_ you'll be fine out here? I do have too many blankets."

"Will it make you feel better if you got one?"

He nods pointedly and she gives in, telling him he can. Bellamy tells her that he'll be right back. After dropping the bottles into the trashcan, he heads to his closet to find a blanket. He settles on a quilt his mom had made when she was still alive and intends to walk back outside, but his eyes snag on his own winter coat on his chair. He grabs that too.

Clarke's, thankfully, still sitting there, now leaning back on her hands. He walks up behind her and drapes first his coat on her shoulders, then the blanket on top of it. She lets out a small _oof_ and turns her head to look up at him.

"Now you can't blame me if you get a cold."

"I have a very strong immune system," she protests, but slips her arms through the sleeves, pulls the quilt around her as well. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he says. He debates with himself for a split second, and then leans down to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "I hope 2014 is better for you too."

Her eyes soften and her shoulders slump a little. "Thanks," she says again, sounding a little bit choked. "Now leave me alone please, I've had enough of you." He chuckles, secure in the knowledge that she's joking. With one last look to make sure she's okay, he slips back inside, closing the door behind him.

 

The party ends a few hours later and everyone's been shuffling out bit by bit. He's been trying to clean up around the house, but there's too much trash and he's so tired that he just falls dead asleep onto his bed without changing out of his clothes. A few years ago, he could handle hours much later than this and accepts with a resigned fate that he's getting old.

 

When he wakes up in the morning, the house is still a mess and Octavia's passed out on the couch, Lincoln passed out right next to her, and he shuffles to the kitchen to find his coat on the back of a chair and the quilt folded up neatly and placed over another chair. When he gets closer, he finds a note taped on the table.

_Thanks. See you later._

_C_

Bellamy smiles at it before he gets to work on the house.

 

***

 

**IV. New Year's Eve 2014**  

It all happens so fast. One minute he's flirting with a girl Octavia works with, the next Lincoln's on his knee in front of his sister and there's a hush over the crowd. It's 11:58. All he thinks is _he is_ not _proposing to Octavia at midnight, is he?_

He is.

Octavia finds him standing by the makeshift bar minutes after she's said yes, at 12:02 and flings herself at him and only years of experience ready him to catch her. He wraps his arms around her tightly as she says, "Bell Bell Bell, did you see?"

She squeezes him tight, then pulls back to take a look at him. Octavia is beaming, bright and happy and beautiful and he loves his sister so much that any qualms about her getting engaged already disappear instantly. He presses a kiss against her temple, whispers, "Congrats, O, I'm so happy for you," and he means it.

Octavia smacks a kiss against his cheek and says, just a bit tearfully, "Thanks, Bell." He gives her another hug again before she detaches from him and runs off to show off her ring.

He eventually makes his way outside and there's a few people in his yard, chatting, on their way out, smoking. For a brief second, he thinks about bumming a cigarette from one of the guys, but it goes away quickly. He's definitely itching for something though. Maybe he should've brought a drink out with him.

Someone nudges his hip and he blinks to see Clarke standing next to him.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he says lightly.

"There's only so many places here," she points out.

"You're not here to try to talk me out of my field trip idea, are you?" He's been trying to get the board to sanction a three day trip for his junior year history class but they've been extremely obstinate as per usual. He had thought that maybe Clarke would help out, but she's been very practical and very Clarke about it, which has not helped his case.

"Yeah I definitely came here to convince you to drop it," she says with a roll of her eyes. "You should do some fundraising though."

He surveys her for a second. "I'll keep that in mind," he says, already making the mental note.

Clarke hums an agreement.

"So. Eventful party," she says minutes later, amusement in her voice.

"Yeah," he agrees, for lack of a better response. "She's, uh. Actually grown up now."

He can feel her eyes on him even though he's trained his forward, watching a couple stumble across the yard.

"Is it weird?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. It is." Clarke doesn't say anything after that, doesn't pry into his words, and he is grateful for that. He doesn't want to think about his sister getting married and maybe moving away and starting a new life until at least a few weeks from now.

Clarke pulls on his wrist, tugging him close and turning him around back into the house. "C'mon, there's a darts game that's waiting for me to beat you in," she says and he sputters as he's dragged inside, ignores when her hand slips into his and guides him to the corner where there's a game set up.

"Rock, paper, scissors to see who goes first?" She suggests and he nods, somewhat robotically. He picks rock, she picks paper, and the trend of Clarke winning lasts during each one of the four games she makes him play.

 

***

 

**V. New Year's Eve 2015**

"Are you primping?" Clarke asks, peering over his shoulder and into the mirror he's currently in front of, _not primping_.

"I'm just making sure I look presentable," he says as he tugs on a curl that won't stay flat. It pops back up and he sighs.

"You know this isn't a fancy party, right? You go to it every year."

"We weren't dating those years," he argues and she gets this small smile on her face, affectionate and soft.

"You want to impress Wells," she says and he would protest, but it's true. He wants to impress her other friends too.

"He's your best friend," he mutters, grabbing a sweater from his closet.

"He likes you already! Hold on, let me help," she says, reaching forward to pull down the hem from where it bunched up.

"Still," he says. "It's important."

"Whatever you say, babe," she says, but kisses him so that he knows it's not a dismissal. "You're cute," she declares once they break apart.

"Thanks," he accepts. "Ready to go?"

"Let me grab my bag," she says. "Wait. Just one more thing." He raises an eyebrow at her. She reaches out a hand and runs it a few times through his hair, messing it up from the part he had settled on. He's about to complain about all his hard work for naught but she cuts him off.

"I like it like this and you don't need to try hard to be liked, okay? They like you already." He relents, pecks her lips quickly, and she leads him out of the room.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror before he leaves. "Wait, I look like we've just had sex."

She has a devious glint in her eye when she turns around and winks at him.

 

They're only an hour late to the party, which he's going to accept as a habitual consequence of dating Clarke Griffin, perpetual late arriver to parties. Also, the sex they just had. At least his hair is back to his normal amount of mess. Luckily, the party is packed enough with people that no one comments on their late arrival. Once they get there, Clarke spots Wells, who is happily chatting with Raven and Monty, and she squeezes Bellamy's elbow to tell him that's where she'll be. He finds Octavia.

"Fashionably late?" Octavia asks with a smirk.

"Don't start," he says, nodding at Lincoln. He nods back. Octavia rolls her eyes but just because they're married now, doesn't mean they need to be close friends. Bellamy likes Lincoln and respects him and definitely didn't cry at their wedding when he walked her down the aisle, but neither of them have a desire to be best friends just because they're technically related now.

"Did you do something to your hair?" Octavia says, scrutinizing the hair in question and picking at a strand. He tries to bat her hand away but she has much faster reflexes and slaps his hand first.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he says with a scowl, resigning himself to her fixing it.

"It looks weird," she proclaims and then pats his head. "But it's cute you're trying to impress Clarke's friends."

He almost asks her how she knew but she's Octavia and she knows everything about him. "I'm not _deliberately_ ," but her look tells him she doesn't buy it. "It's just, if it does so happen to work, then I won't complain."

"You might want to redo the buttons," Lincoln interjects, tipping his beer at him. Bellamy looks down. Oh. He fumbles to fix it and then smooths out his shirt like nothing was wrong. Lincoln has a faint smirk on his face and Octavia can't stop giggling. He glares at them and mumbles something about coming back later. He doesn't get three feet until he bumps into someone.

"Sorry," he mutters and when he looks up, he clears his throat. "Hey, Wells. What's… up?" He clears his throat again.

Wells claps him on the back. "You okay there?"

Bellamy nods. "Just – allergies. Winter ones." Wells looks amused and he deserved that. "Never mind. Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah, you weren't kidding about how many people your sister invites, were you?" Bellamy chuckles darkly.

"One of the unspoken rules is never underestimate Octavia's dedication to this party."

"Ah." They lapse into silence and Bellamy searches his brain for something to say. Wells beats him to it. "So, you know I've known Clarke forever."

"Right. You have."

"You better be not fucking around with her," Wells says bluntly. He just raises his eyebrow with a smile still on his face.

"I – I'm not. I mean, I'm serious about this. Her," he says, his eyes searching for Clarke as discreetly as possible, which is near impossible when Wells is standing in front of him. "Trust me, I've no plans on fucking this up, I'm –"

Wells interrupts him, "Okay, I believe you, I didn't think that'd work so well."

"What?"

"I thought I'd have to threaten you a bit more," Wells remarks casually and Bellamy frowns. Had he folded so easily?

"So you've done this before?"

Wells thinks about it. "You're the first one I've really enjoyed scaring."

He's not sure if that's a compliment, but he'll take it as one anyways. "Thanks. Uh, I'm glad?"

He claps him on the back good-naturedly. "You don't need to impress me, okay? If Clarke likes you, and she does, then you've already gotten my approval."

"I'm that obvious?" Bellamy asks, willing the embarrassment to stay down.

"You're just… yeah, kinda." But when Wells laughs, Bellamy joins him and before long, they've moved onto different topics – Bellamy finds out they both love Liverpool, Wells was a cross-country champ in college, he and Clarke nearly got arrested once for something Wells refuses to reveal ("Ask Clarke about that. I don't want her to kill me."), and he wants to ask him for an embarrassing story only to be foiled by Clarke coming up behind them and slinging her arms around their necks.

"Look at this, my two boys," she says, kissing them both on the cheek. Bellamy exchanges a look with Wells like _yeah, basically_. "Is the Inquisition over? Have you terrified him enough?"

"Yeah, I was shaking in my boots," Bellamy says dryly and one look from her tells him that she knows it was almost the truth. "Don't look at me like that. I'm going to get a drink now." He presses a kiss to her temple and she lets him go with a pout.

"Okay, tell me everything you said to him…"

 

He doesn't catch on until Raven ambushes him coming out of the bathroom. She literally pulls him aside and fixes him with a hard glare. "Listen, you fuck with Clarke, you answer to me and you do not want to answer to me."

"I... what?" He sputters, trying to ease himself out of Raven's vice like grip on his forearm.

"You heard me!"

"I did but where is this coming from – can you let – okay, what?"

"Oh my god, what does she see in you?"

"Hey!" he protests. "You ambushed me!"

"Everyone else has had their turn talking to you!" Raven says, finally letting go of his arm. He shakes it to regain feeling in it. Their turn?

"What the hell does that –" he catches Clarke's eye from over Raven's shoulder, Clarke who doesn't do a fast enough job of masking her gleeful expression. Oh, so that's it. "Is she sending you guys to scare me? First Wells, then Jasper, who was very antsy, by the way –"

"He's useless, I can't believe we trusted him to do anything," Raven mutters.

"Then Monty, now you? Wait, how did I just catch on now?" He goes on, undeterred by her comment.

"You're kind of an idiot?"

"I am not!"

"Just promise you won't hurt her, okay?" Raven crosses her arms and looks like she has so many better things she'd rather be doing.

"Of course I won't hurt her. I've literally told everyone else this too."

"It's not my fault they cut in front of me," she says, annoyed. "I'm satisfied now. Thank you." With that, she turns and walks away, grabbing a drink from some blond guy who's waiting for her.

He seeks out Clarke again, who is looking too determinedly in a conversation to actually be paying attention to the conversation. Bellamy catches snippets of it as he gets closer. "...neighborhood's really trying to establish fences... Terrible idea, I know..."

He hasn't a clue who she's pretending to listen to but he sidles up to Clarke and interrupts anyways. "Sorry, guys, can I borrow my girlfriend for a moment?"

They nod their assent, going back to the conversation immediately. She has a sheepish look on her face.

"Clarke."

"Bellamy."

"Were you sending your friends to harass me?"

She smiles a little. "Not intentionally. Wells did it because he thinks he has to but for the others, I might've said something about how cute it was that you were nervous about impressing them and they maybe thought it would be fun to scare you a bit."

He scowls and she buries her face in his shoulder. "You were very cute," she mumbles and he rolls his eyes but stops scowling.

"I didn't even catch on until Raven basically said that's what she was doing."

"You're _so_ hopeless," she says fondly, pulling him down for a kiss.

 

Bellamy catches Octavia on her way to grab the mic so she can begin the countdown in twenty minutes.

"Hey, Bell, how's your first couple party?"

"That's not a thing," he says, even though he might've classified it as that in his head.

"So is."

"So not."

"Are we doing this? I'm more stubborn than you."

"You don't have to tell me twice. Okay, whatever, it's going well." He ignores her triumphant smile. "Can I ask you something though?"

"Depends."

"Can you go up to Clarke and be like _hey don't hurt my brother or you'll be sorry_ or some shit like that?"

Octavia looks at him weirdly. "Um, no."

"Why _not_?" He whines. "Miller won't, either, which is such bullshit because he fucking loves this shit, but he's scared of Clarke, I think, I don't –"

"Bell," Octavia cuts in, laying a hand on his arm. "As much as I'd love to listen to you ramble on, I'm not going to do that because I've already done it. And I don't like repeating myself."

"What? When?"

"Like a week or two after you guys started dating?" She grins at him and he feels himself grinning back. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean I'm not on your side first. I do it to all your girlfriends, but she was definitely the most fun."

He ruffles her hair much to her displeasure. "That's what Wells said about –"

" _FUCK_!" Both Bellamy and Octavia whirl around to the source of the curse, their eyes widening in horror as they see Jasper jumping back from the corner house plant that's on fire now.

"Oh my god!" Octavia shouts, slapping his arm. "What the hell happened?"

"Maybe ask that after it's put out," Bellamy reprimands, though still rooted to the spot. He's trying to remember where Octavia keeps a bucket, if Octavia even has a bucket around, if she has a fire extinguisher even, and no one else is being helpful, just standing around gaping at the fire, except Octavia who's run into the bathroom, when Wells comes out of nowhere, brandishing a bucket and dumps water on the burning plant. There's a sizzle and the people closest to the fire cough as the smoke clears.

Octavia comes out of the bathroom a second later. "I can't find the bucket – oh. Thanks, Wells," she says. The hero of the night shrugs and sets down the bucket.

"What happened?" Clarke says as she comes out of the kitchen with a drink in her hand and makes her way over to the crowd.

"Small fire," Wells explains. She shrugs like it's a normal occurrence. Bellamy's definitely going to be asking her about that later.

 

***

 

**VI. New Year's Eve 2016**

"It's just not going to be fun hosting a party that I can't even drink at. Plus, all the planning and setting up, it's so much work," Octavia explains.

"But it's a tradition," he says because it _is_. It's weird to think of a New Year's Eve without an Octavia party to mark it.

"And they can be broken sometimes."

"Can't you just get someone else to plan it?" It's the logical alternative.

She rolls her eyes. "Bell, who could do that as well as me? You?" She laughs like it's an impossible scenario.

"I could," he defends.

"I'm sure you can." She's still unconvinced.

"I _could_! I've gone to enough of your parties, plus I'm the one who ends up setting everything up anyways, so it's really like I do most of the work by the end." He crosses his arms as if provoking her to deny it.

She doesn't, just looks at him and says, "Bellamy, you just like being contrary with me. Always have, always will."

"No!" He snaps, "I can do it – Clarke and I can _both_ do it  _and_ prove you wrong!"

Octavia tilts her head at him for a minute, assessing his statement. Then a huge grin replaces her stern contemplation. "Okay, great! I was hoping you'd say yes."

Wait, what?

Clarke chooses that minute to come home from work, opening the door to find him staring in confusion at Octavia. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" she trills. "Oh hey, O. You staying for dinner?"

"I'd love to, Clarke. Bellamy has something to tell you too," she says brightly, getting up and walking to the kitchen. Clarke smiles at Octavia's stomach as she passes her.

"What do you have to tell me?" She asks as she hangs up her coat and scarf.

"Uh. We might have to plan a New Year's party."

 

Clarke is mad at him. Aside from the telltale signs that Clarke is mad at him (stiff posture, deliberately short answers, glares), she's tossing in the opposite item into the shopping cart when she asks him his opinion about whether they should get those cookies or _those_ cookies.

"I'm sorry!" He says for the fourth time as he trails after her. She wheels the cart ridiculously briskly.

"You have known Octavia for 28 years. You raised her!" she says, holding up two decoration sets. He tells her he prefers the left one; she throws the right one into the cart instead. "How did you not realize this is what she wanted you to do?"

"It all happened so fast!" He exclaims defensively, jogging to catch up to her. Once he does, he grabs a hold of the cart to stop it. She glares at him. "I'm so sorry, it won't be that bad, okay? I'll do all the work and everything." Clarke sighs, then crooks a finger at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He does, places his hands on her hips as she tries to maintain her glare.

"What am I going to do with you?" she says, world-weary.

He kisses her chastely. They _are_ in a grocery store, after all. "Veto my terrible plans?"

"Oh, I'll definitely have fun with that."

 

Clarke vetoes almost every one of his ideas because "they're all terrible, stop looking at me like that," but by the time the party rolls around, he thinks they've (mostly Clarke) managed to plan a pretty good party. Octavia tells him so when she arrives, beaming at him.

"I knew you could do it," she says.

"You tricked me!"

"And you fell for it, hook line and sinker. Bell, Bell, Bell, you're the best."

He's a little soothed by that.

 

Clarke steals him away to make out in their room because "hosting is a lot of fucking work" and "it's our house so we can do whatever we want." Her exact reasons. He backs her up against the door as soon as it closes, kisses her immediately, thanks everything that he's with Clarke today, yesterday, all days. She laughs into his mouth and he kisses her harder, wins a happy sigh from her.

"Next time, the party planning stays with Octavia, okay?" She murmurs as he trails his lips across her jaw.

"This is an sister-mention-free zone, babe," he says, nipping at her neck and stopping once she hits him.

"Just saying. I so don't want to go through this again."

"All right, I promise," he says. She curls her fingers in his hair, then slips a hand to the hem of his shirt, sneaking under to trace circles against his hip. He suppresses a shiver.

There's no urgency in their kisses, even as the party goes on beyond that door, because he trusts their friends to keep it under control (and they've banned lighters from Jasper, of course), so they just enjoy each other's company for the first time in a while. Clarke's been extra busy lately, something that always happens around the holidays, so they haven't had much time to spend together.

"Hey," he says softly as he pulls back from her. She has her eyes closed, wisps of her hair falling over them and he brushes them back. She looks content and she looks beautiful.

"Yeah?" she hums.

"Let's go away next year."

"Where?" She peeks an eye open.

"I don't know, but let's do it."

She smiles lazily at him, swipes her thumb across his mouth. "Okay, let's do it." He smiles at her, she smiles back. Clarke tugs at his collar, pulls him down for another kiss, and a loud banging on the door stops them before his mouth touches hers.

"You better not be fucking while we're all here!" Miller shouts. "It's almost time for the countdown!"

He groans, drops his head against the wood of the door. "Coming!"

"Gross!" Octavia shrieks and Clarke giggles.

"C'mon," she says, slipping her hand into his. "Let's go host this party."

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always I'm at [bestivals](http://bestivals.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
